


All For One

by RomanceOnExpress



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Jeanne-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8647420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanceOnExpress/pseuds/RomanceOnExpress
Summary: When time is manipulated it ripples and separates. Cereza triggers this by influencing her younger self, and Jeanne is, in theory, influenced by it all the way down Memory Lane.(Hopefully) fills some of Jeanne's missing history without breaking canon.





	1. Innocence of Youth

**Author's Note:**

> This giant of a fill-in-the-blank is dedicated to my sister, who shares in much of my excitement surrounding the universe of Bayonetta. Happy Birthmas! It wasn't supposed to go beyond 2,000 words, but that's what happens when I'm given my favourite character to write a background of.
> 
> To everyone else, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This story assumes:  
> Jeanne is Joan of Arc, as suggested in-game.  
> The Clan Wars grew from Cereza's conception but did not break out into full-continental war until after the Umbran/Lumen truce broke down over time, led by Balder/Loptr's influence.  
> The Clan Wars/Witch Hunts and the historical Hundred years War occurs around the same time of each other (specifically the Lancastrian War). Specific details won't be indulged.  
> The Clan Wars are separate and before Witch Hunts, the Umbra were strong and defensive during Clan Wars, but were killed off during Witch Hunts due to human involvement rallied by Balder/Loptr.

**Part 1 - Innocence of Youth**

 

Jeanne was used to her own way of things. Growing up as the Heiress to the Umbran Throne instilled in her a sense of duty and pride. But she liked the independence of her thoughts, and when someone told her not to do something, it was hard to keep her from doing it.

No one gave her a reason to stop playing with Cereza as a child. Not any reason that she liked, anyway.

_“Cereza was an outcast.”_

_“Cereza wasn’t allowed to learn their ways.”_

_“Cereza was the Forbidden Child.”_

_“_ _Cereza wasn’t to be talked to.”_

Cereza was also very, very lonely. And despite all the attention, Jeanne was too.

Jeanne was surrounded, constantly, with witches who tried to groom her to take her mother’s place. She enjoyed it for the most part, knowing that she had so much more responsibility than anyone else. But she had teachers, trainers, caretakers, and not a single one of them Jeanne called a friend. So when she looked at lonely Cereza, Jeanne saw a mirror of what she felt. And knowing at such a young age that every witch will be her responsibility one day, Jeanne decided to start with the one who was kept away from her own world.

As Jeanne learned basic spells she would sneak away in the mornings towards the mostly empty dungeons to teach them to Cereza. They practiced enchantments together on their dolls, concocted potions that they drank with scrunched up noses, designed original weaves and crafts to play dress-up with. Anything Jeanne learned was taught to Cereza.

Her mother caught her once, and Cereza told Jeanne her “mummy” said not to do anything to cause trouble.

But they didn’t listen. They just got better at hiding.

Jeanne kept sneaking away at night, little slippers pattering mutely against cold stone, determined to finish the lesson’s she began with Cereza. They were extremely careful now, using hushed voices and quiet steps, and they would hex out the candles in the halls they took.

On the third night of it the pair made a game of being the quietest to perform their practise, unknowingly on the road to advanced wordless magic, barely-formed words lost to the air before they could echo down the walls. On the fifth night Cereza brazenly ran at her in the still-lit hallway, tackling Jeanne into a tight hug with a dainty squeal of delight.

“They’re going to teach me, Jeanne! They’re going to do it! Mummy says I’m going to be a witch!”

“Really?!” Jeanne returned a squeeze happily before pushing the other girl back a step. “This is so good, Cereza! We can learn together!”

“Um…” Cereza pouted, her hands nervously in front of her and clasping at her nightgown. “Well, I’m not learning with you. Or anyone. Mummy says I’m being taught alone, and I’m still not allowed to cause any one trouble. But,” Cereza looked at Jeanne before biting her lip. “She also says I shouldn’t be alone.”  She suddenly looked up at Jeanne, eyes wide. “But I didn’t tell her about you! I told mummy I had Cheshire to keep me company, and I didn’t say anything else about you, Jeanne.”

Jeanne hummed a moment before speaking, considering what her friend told her. “That might be a good thing. My mother really didn’t like us together.” She grabbed Cereza’s hands, smiling again. “We can keep practicing though! And we’ll become so good, we’ll be the best witches ever! And then I can be the Elder and take care of the Left Eye and you can be my guardian!”

“What’s the Left Eye?” Cereza asked.

“I don’t really know. Mother says it’s the clan’s treasure and it’ll be my responsibility and I’ll have to keep it safe.”

“Oh, okay. I can help you, Jeanne!”

“Thank you Cereza. Let’s be the best witches ever!”

The dark haired girl nodded, then turned back the way she came from to lead them to their secret space. At least now Cereza wouldn’t have to pretend she didn’t know magic anymore. That alone brought a smile to Jeanne’s innocent face.

Jeanne looks back at this untainted memory fondly. They were just small children, practicing the building blocks of magic, alone in the dark with their dolls and nightgowns.

-—-—-

The air was chilled when Jeanne snuck out of the Enchantment Galleries, hands full of a little paper-bound box. Her body was wrapped in layers of warm clothes to prevent frostbite. The snow had fallen earlier in the evening, leaving a thick dusting of fluffy-looking flakes over everything outside, coating the rough-hewn walls and bark of leafless trees. The older witches’ booted heels left impressions behind them, and Jeanne could clearly tell where most of them had gone through the courtyard.

She left for the opposite direction of the tracks, endeavouring to step where someone else had to make her way towards the dormitories. She excitedly tried to jump from each step to another without falling over, giggling a little to herself once she was certain no other witches were going to cross her path. They should have all been in the feasting halls with hot soups and broiled vegetables, or warming up in the library with its many fireplaces and cozy seats. A few might be in their rooms and wrapped in blankets, but Jeanne didn’t worry about them. She was mostly concerned about her mother or the tutors; or anyone who had the elder’s ear or command.

The dorms were held in a large and lofty building, fit for all the witches to room in relative comfort. It was several stories tall and a few deep, with varyingly sized quarters for those of different ages and rank. Her mother's were the biggest with separate areas for her bed, office, and a personal library of Umbran curios and babbles. Jeanne’s room was across and down the Elder’s hall, small than her mother’s but still more spacious compared to many of those belonging to other fledgling witches.

The heiress turned away from the halls that lead to her rooms, instead slipping quietly up a staircase to the floors above. One hand reached out to the stone walls to keep her balance, the other tightening on the box. When she looked behind her she noticed her boots had left small puddles on the steps, reflecting the candlelight of the deep-set wall sconces. Jeanne puffed her cheeks at the sight, admonishing herself for leaving such an obvious trail. But she continued on, hoping the torches would dry up her mistake quickly.

She didn’t see or hear anyone on the next floor, so the heiress hurried along to Cereza’s room, holding her package securely against her chest. She knocked on the door once before pushing it open, too impatient to wait to be let in.

 “Jeanne? What are you doing here so early?” Cereza was sitting on her bed, already in her nightgown with her hair braided elaborately up and away from her round face.

Like all the other rooms the Umbra shared, Cereza’s had a large window that allowed moonlight to flood in at night, with banks of candles set on tables or dressers against the far wall. Cereza’s shutters were open now, the cool beams reflecting off the snow outside and illuminating one side of the girl’s face while the candles flickered and warmly lit up the other. Despite (or maybe because of) the dark sheen to the other witch’s hair, her braids caught both kinds of light, and Jeanne’s initial excitement briefly stuttered as she considered how well her friend could wear blue or red.

“I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I just finished your present,” Jeanne explained, holding out the package and smiling widely. “Happy birthday Cereza!”

“Thank you!” The other girl blushed slightly, taking the gift carefully. She pulled at the dyed twine holding the paper in place, uncovering a simple jewelry box. As the wrapping fell away Cereza neatly opened the top of the casket, revealing a relatively large ruby with tiny black engravings.

“Oh Jeanne…” She delicately held up the gem, reading the inscription aloud, “Jeanne and Cereza…”

“I did the writing myself. I read that rubies are good with fire, and the angels use lots of fire, so I thought it could be a good protection stone. I tried to enchant it with a shield but I’m not sure how well it worked.”

“Thank you, Jeanne.” Cereza practically leaped off the bed and threw her arms around the heiress.

She hugged back tightly, speaking into one of her friend’s braids, “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Cereza assured as she pulled away, turning to her bedside table.

Cereza replaced the gem in the box, her smile light on her face as Jeanne explained the small nuances of it. When Cereza made to put the box in the night stand drawer Jeanne caught a glint of gold and soft red from within.

-—-—-

Jeanne promised to meet with Cereza at their secret spot to celebrate the night before her birthday, like she did for Cereza’s almost three weeks prior. They agreed to do so late at night, after the majority of witches had either gone to sleep, left for missions, or were preoccupied with training.

The dungeons were quiet, and Jeanne knew Cereza would have arrived early to visit her mother, so Jeanne took her time. The building was simpler in architecture compared to others of the Umbran Clan’s. It was fitted with small, thin windows that couldn’t be opened, providing very little natural light, certainly not enough to allow for someone to Witch Walk inside. The entranceway had tapestries of dark themes, sharing with observers pieces of dark prophecies, history, and depictions of horrors by the Laguna that she’d only heard tell of from older witches. They used to scare Jeanne when she first started meeting with Cereza, but now they were something the heiress knew to expect once she was finished her training.

The halls were dimly lit, torches scattered thinly along the walls with one in every two burning at a given time. During the summer months it felt cold inside this particular building, but the January weather brought a freezing draft to the place, requiring thick coats and warm boots to traverse comfortably. Even dressed appropriately Jeanne could still feel the tips of her ears and nose being bitten by frost.

Once inside the abandoned room the two girls claimed as theirs Jeanne sat on an old and broken legged chair, originally large enough for two. One side of it had become charred the previous year from a brewing practise that had gone awry. They had moved the blackened cauldron to the far corner after that, well away from the door or anything else that could catch fire. The rest of the room was furnished with similarly broken or marred tables or cabinets, things that the older Umbran weren’t likely to miss in the less than favourable building. It was here they learned to draw enchantments, brew potions, and weave catalysts together.

Jeanne propped herself on the intact side of the chair, glad that her height allowed her to do so without clamouring on the seats like she had to do when they first started to come here. It wasn’t long after the cushion under her began to warm up when Cereza appeared, shutting the door quietly behind.

“Happy birthday, Jeanne!” the dark haired witch said, balancing a light wooden box in her arms.

“Thank you, Cereza.”

Her friend sat close beside her, also avoiding the black crusted spot. “I got to go to the village for my birthday allowance last month. This is for you.” Cereza passed the box to her, and Jeanne could see little details craved into the top and sides, cats and moths and birds, bordered by a lace-like filigree.

“It’s so pretty, thank you.”

Cereza smiled at her. “Open it.”

Jeanne removed the lid, eyes alighting on a stone-hewn sculpture of the two of them. It was smooth, and had captured their likeness perfectly – down to the details of their dress and accessories. When she turned it over she saw “Jeanne and Cereza” was written into the back, a perfect mirror to the inscription her gift to Cereza bore.

“I love it, Cereza,” she said distractedly, fingers tracing over the Enochian letters. When she looked up Jeanne could see her friend looked relieved. Her brows pulled into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I just… wasn’t sure if you would like it,” Cereza broke off, biting her lip. “It’s not as… as pretty as the jewel you gave me for my birthday, but I wanted to get you something special. That will last.”

“Cereza…” Jeanne put the statue aside in its box before drawing Cereza into a hug. “I love it, it’s different, special,” she paused, trying to find the right words for what the heartfelt gift meant to her. “It’s one of a kind. Like you.”

Cereza relaxed against her, obviously reassured. “We’re both one of a kind.”

They talked for what seemed like hours, discussing training, books, and what animals they wanted to be able to turn into when they were older and taught transfiguration. Sitting as they were, pressed close against each other from the cold and sharing their thoughts, Jeanne realized how special it was that they did this. None of the other witches meant to her what Cereza did, and she knew the feeling was mutual.

The clan may call each other ‘sisters’ out of camaraderie, but Jeanne felt the bond strongly, _solidly_ , with Cereza.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-

There are times in which Jeanne can't remember if Cereza had that long pretty ribbon she sometimes sees at her neck instead of a thin gold chain, and others where she's certain Cheshire’s little button eye was sewn in with a different coloured thread.

Sometimes her friend is shy and has a hand protectively held to her chest and treasure, others when Cereza's more confident to be seen about the open areas of the Umbran complex. Her Umbran Watch is decorated with the jewel Jeanne gave her and hidden under her garb, or it can be seen gleaming proudly by her finger in a durable mount on her left hand revolver.

If Jeanne puts a little effort into it she can string together which changes belong together. But that feels a little like cheating, like ripping open a present just to get to the gift, when the wrapping can be just as pleasing to savour.

Alternate things don’t hurt from this period of their lives, and Jeanne wonders if part of that is their youth and the freshness of her life.


	2. Fall, Crash, and Burn

**Part 1 - Fall, Crash, and Burn**

 

It was hard for Jeanne to accept what had happened to the entirety to the Umbran Clan. Years later it still ached, dull and hollow, in her chest when it caught up with her. At the time she barely felt the pain of loss as it happened – instantly working to organize those who hadn’t perished into attacks, defences, and escapes. And ready contingency plans where everything else failed.

A numb fury rushed through her as she fought to each isolated group of her sisters, gritting her teeth against frustration and pain as she watched them fall. Over the sounds of destruction and rebellion she could hear her mother, relaying orders and demands of the witches who were still alive. It was encouraging to know the Umbran Elder had yet to succumb to the tides of Laguna and humans, but the more she fought the more Jeanne began to expect the worst.

Rubble punctuated what she once called her perfect home, dust settling over the courtyards and paths, gardens decorated with ash and char. These details were hovering in the background of her vision as she felled the golden beasts between her and her sisters, focused in her task try to turn each battle for their advantage behind her as she moved on from each.

When Jeanne finally reached the sanctuary with Cereza she realized that, more than anything, they were just fighting for time.

-—-—-

Jeanne remembers creating the seal to protect Cereza, recalls her mother’s voice faltering into silence in the distance, and recollects the Imprisoned One on the ground as her sister and the Overseer of their Left Eye ran to her body. The screams of the clan were fewer as the chorus of angels grew louder. The furious cries of the humans storming the grounds rose to deafening levels while their fists beat at the sanctuary’s doors. They had so little time left now; they couldn’t let those damned angels take everything.

So while Cereza hugged her mother Jeanne released her mind from everything around them. She wove a spell that would protect her friend, layering it around her small hidden blade.

“… TABAORD PAGE FAFEN GROSB IPAM TELOCH… YOLCI DE BLANS…”

_“… let her be governed to rest by the intent that this sting is not death… bring forth to protect…”_

Cereza was wiping her eyes, with Rosa’s form laid out in front of her, and Jeanne could see clearly the loss that lingered under the fear as the room became louder.

“BAMS, PAAOXT …”

_“let them forget, let it remain…”_

Cereza turned at her hushed words, eyes wide, as Jeanne finished the spell. She stepped towards the kneeling witch, her hand tight around the hilt, watching as understanding crossed her sister’s face.

She remembers first driving through the layers of cloth into the gem Jeanne had given Cereza so many years ago. The spell released and attached itself to the ruby, and Cereza’s body, mind, and soul slipped into the gem. The memory of Cereza’s role to the Umbra was safely tucked away in the recesses of her mind and the facets of the stone.

As the spell wrapped around Cereza and solidified to her form Jeanne turned in time to see the doors had finally failed to hold and the Laguna had come forth. Knowing that she was all that stood between hope and despair Jeanne readied to fight with a vengeance.  

“ _This is why the Left Eye, our treasured Left Eye, will never fall into the hands of another! I will not stand for the wild ambition of a treacherous Lumen Sage who disrupted our age-old balance. Your path ends here!_ ” The emotions were becoming raw and painful and angry as she picked up the gem, her friend, and gazed at the carved lettering. “ _Do not fear your fate. Stand… Cereza._ ”

She carried Cereza away from their ruined home, their family, their culture, their entire way of life. Anyone Jeanne encountered did their best to aid in her mission, providing protection, distraction, _their life’s blood_ to keep the angels from their treasured Left Eye. They guarded her through the tunnels under Vigrid, through to the other side of the valley, branching away from Jeanne to divert attention from her escape.

No one else made it with her, and Jeanne couldn’t return to help until her task was complete. She selfishly used her mission to pull her mind from that fact for as long as possible, until she could examine it and call it the failure her success truly was.

-—-—-

Jeanne used her human guise to acquire the coffin and supplies she would need to prepare Cereza for an enduring sleep, uncaring of how suspicious her indispensable purchases might have been to the humans. The ruby wasn’t meant for such long-term protection and concealment spells, and she could feel it tug apart at its glyphic seems. Taking extreme care not to be followed by any mortals or angels, she located the safest spot to store her last remaining sister, readying the witch’s coffin and releasing Cereza’s body to be wrapped and ready for centuries of security; whenever Jeanne could return and awaken her to start the war again or live on peace.

She never did come back for Cereza.

Less than a day after her mission was completed Jeanne returned to the bloody Crescent Valley. She nearly froze and dropped Angel Slayer at her side; the devastation was appalling, worse than she could have possibly imagined.

The bridge out of the valley was torn apart, and very few witches had made it that far in their escape. The Training Grounds had pieces missing from their structures, sections that been flung away into others or had collapsed from the strain. The courtyard of the Umbran complex was full of bodies; the remains of her mother surrounded by faithful guards and scorched stones. Everything in the valley was dead – trees, grass, familiars, the entire _clan_. The angels hadn’t just killed them either – they toyed and tortured any who had the misfortune to linger on this plane.

It was expected of their demons, an agreement built into their pact, but to see it from the Riders of Light filled Jeanne so fully and blindly with rage that it consumed her. Anger was familiar, an old friend she had learned to channel and curb early in her training. But this sensation was so far beyond her composure – her magic shimmered with it. Even though she was moving in Purgatorio someone could have easily seen her body haze through the worlds.

‘ _They were going to do this to the world. If they had succeeded in obtaining our Left Eye…_ ’ but chaos and nothingness followed that route of thought.

Jeanne didn’t stop, but slowed as her gaze took in the desecration of the Umbran home. It ached that she took so much of it for granted. Jeanne looked at it now, _really looked_ , at the paving stones in disrupted patterns, the shattered stain-glass portraits and interrupted stories in the windows. The trees were burnt, charred, or torn up from their roots. It was seeing everything the heiress had ever known, ever trusted in to remain long after she’d passed on, utterly ripped from her life. A nightmare she’d never dreamed of made true.

‘ _Enough_ ,’ she told herself. ‘ _Enough of this. This will be where it ends._ ’

It was no wonder the angels found her so quickly, descending from on high to answer her yet unspoken call for their gore. After she had killed the first wave the clouds parted further, golden light spilling as the Auditio Fortitudo itself appeared from them. She didn’t wait for words, rushing headlong into combat. Under other circumstances she might have won quickly and cleanly with a clearer mind, but Jeanne had let herself be blinded by their battlefield.

And then _he_ appeared.  The exiled Lumen Sage who had orchestrated the Witch Hunts.

Preternatural gusts billow out and around her, gathering towards the witch's body like a cloak, reflecting the tremulous emotions instead her. Jeanne grasps and clenches tight to the feeling of anger, ignoring all else in her head and her heart, and moves to meet the enemy halfway.

He had asked so horribly politely for the location of the Left Eye, and she replied with a summon sigil, which he was disturbingly able to avoid and counter meritoriously. But she was determined to end his kind once and for all, and she threw herself behind Angel Slayer to finish him.

In minutes her connection to Madama Styx was broken, her heel guns were shattered, and she barely recovered herself enough to see that she was not winning this fight. Her weaves couldn’t formulate properly and were torn to shreds within seconds. Her attacks were sloppy, too dedicated to aggression and it was costing her energy and control with every slip past him. Retreat became her only acceptable option.

Fortitudo and the sage seemed to have noticed her resignation, the man pulling back from the attack as the Auditio withdrew above.

“You should be gracious in this loss, Umbra. As the last, the honour of your defeat should come from mortal hands. We have had our fill of witch blood. We’ll wait patiently for you to die, and then we’ll recover the Left Eye of the World.”

His taunting and prophetic revelation rung hollow in her as she fled the valley, bruised, burnt, and broken. She could not risk exposing Cereza’s location, thus running as far away from her home and her sister to protect what little remained of the Umbra.

She quickly continued the campaign for the mortal counterpart to the Witch Hunts and rejoined with the military troops. She cast a glamour on her hair, donned a uniform for skirmishes, and surrounded herself in the Lancaster War. It was necessary to remain in the realm of humans avoid detection from the entities above; Jeanne wouldn’t dare move through Purgatorio in her state of caution. Purposefully restricting her magic, Jeanne used her natural ability and honed skills to dart behind lines, gather movements, and ready positions for the French to take before flitting away to her station. She spied on the enemy and sent her “predictions” to commanders to sway their direction.

Even if she had all but failed her clan, the least she could do now is win the rest of the hostilities and set about some rights to her allies that aided the Umbra in the Clan Wars.

-—-—-

The humans eventually caught up with her gambit, claiming her self-declared visions were the work of witchcraft.

‘ _They’re not wrong,_ ’ she thought as her surprise turned to annoyance.

They manhandled Jeanne into an English gaol, and though she so very easily could have escaped, it might have caused more fuss than her current predicament would. If Jeanne d’Arc was charged of witchcraft and suddenly escaped, it would, in the eyes of the law and church, prove the allegations made against her. And possibly stir a continuation of the Witch Hunts for her and who knew how many other women’s deaths. If she played her part in the execution as a martyr she would have the freedom to move across Europe and away from this atrocious war. It wasn’t her first choice of action, but after a year of tireless work there was little more for her to do here.

So Jeanne did entirely what was expected of an enemy woman gifted with heaven’s light; reciting prayers and making requests of the other devote for a proper and respectful death sentence. She took small satisfaction from the fathers’ nervous glances and soldiers’ grimaces.

She did not play weak, and refused to give in to their sordid demands of her.

Pretending to burn was the easiest thing she had done since she started posing as a human. Jeanne made certain that she caused every possible amount of trouble and grief before the execution. Now that the humans were going to think her dead it would be easier to move about without suspicion.

She let them bind her, asked for the presence of a cross, and held back a smile as they nervously obeyed her wishes. She let them build the pyre and light it, waiting until the fires grew and licked at her legs before mimicking a helpless combustion victim and fazing herself into the realm in-between as the fire reached for her clothes. Jeanne quickly removed the smouldering ropes tying her and stripped off her tattering cloths, and then leapt off the burning wood, letting the humans think what they will as she escaped from their despicable realm of heat and red.

She needed more time to build her strength and prepare to finish the Lumen clan once and for all. A death certificate always has advantages, one being the lack of other-worldly creatures explicitly looking for her.

At one point there's a man, who isn't truly a man, who runs into her in London, a lost soul seeking a mutual companionship without attachments, a bond that doesn't go beyond staving off loneliness. They separate before they start to like each other, and Jeanne is, too late in realizing, left with the fruit of their union. For everyone's safety, she finds a remote little island tucked away to leave the bundle, far from her realm of running and fearing.

She hopes, in the privacy of her dreams, that someday she might be forgiven, for all of it, but she knows better than to let those thoughts pursue her waking world.

Jeanne flees across Europe to someplace she couldn’t feasibly be recognized, hiding and researching as much as possible, trying to learn more of the wretched sage that started the genocide.

-—-—-

It took her literal ages to find him, and when she did Jeanne nearly regretted the very moment of it. Of course, he changed his mind – killing her was too useless. He praised her public execution and evasive nature during their years apart, but gloated that she couldn’t have possibly avoided him forever. He might have been right; given how determined Jeanne was to end his self-proclaimed reign over Vigrid. She was eventually going to come back to end him, but that wasn’t how it played out.

He circled around to her, with his heels languidly clacking to punctuate every venomous word he slowly uttered. Trapping Jeanne when she knew running was never really an option she had to her.

She was glad he still couldn’t find Cereza or the burden the sleeping witch bore, but that didn’t stop him from trying to pry that information from Jeanne. His power had grown as much as hers, but he was older by far, and had something _more_ to him that she couldn’t fight. Jeanne learned, years later, that he had a god’s power brewing inside him.

The horror of her failure and breakage was so easily pushed against her mind. She didn’t reveal Cereza’s tomb until after the indoctrination was over, but by that point it didn’t matter.

(The worst was over and the rest was just script to finish by – all they needed was the remaining Eye and it would be over, like it should have been the first time five hundred years ago.)

-—-—-—-—-—-—-

Reuniting with Cereza (the _real_ Cereza, awoken from her pseud) helped temper her inadequacy. It didn’t make the memories any easier; if anything they were hard and clear compared to the others floating in her awareness.

Knowing all sides of the truth healed more of her than she would have expected. In the end it was a matter of embracing such things, accepting the multiple outcomes that Cereza had torn in the fabric of their existence. It is something inherent in their Umbran blood, something natural to them that simply required a little mental adjustment and composition to shift the events right and properly into place. Cereza has that in spades; something wreathed in her power that makes it easy and seamless. Jeanne is still putting pieces of herself together, but it’s not difficult. Tedious and frustrating, as living in the past always feels, but it’s necessary if she doesn’t want to go mad and lost from grief and the strain.

And now half of the work is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (end of Part 1)


	3. There's More to This Than You

**Part 2 - There's More to This Than You**

 

Aging had transformed their relationship somewhat from that of friends learning fun little charms to competitors for betterment. As a teenager her mother spent less time with Jeanne, some political needs between the Umbran and the Lumen were drawing more and more of her attention away from Jeanne’s teachings. The distraction was something that the Elder had imparted was Cereza and her mother’s fault.

The lax of scrutiny helped Jeanne concentrate more, and her power grew and bent to her will faster than ever. She was held in higher regard when she had taught herself telekinesis ahead of schedule, and her tutors revered her skill and control as potential correctly met. The strange looks and uncomfortable glances between them when she declared her preference for the sword over the gun only added fuel to her fire.

It was a shame the other witches her age couldn’t keep up. Even Cereza struggled to meet her level.

When agreements of truce broke down between the Umbran and Lumen, conflict brewed and boiled across Europe and both sides tensed and readied for the worst to come. She was only privy to snatches of the Elder’s dealings with the sages, but Jeanne could easily see what was on the horizon.

She confided this to Cereza during one of their secret sparring matches. Nowadays they always met at noon, when the sun shone brightly overhead and the majority of their sisters slept. They had a secluded area at the bottom of the Crescent Valley, away from anyone who might be awake and wandering the Training Grounds.

As part of their habit one of them activated their Umbran Watch, challenging their regulation of time while the other tried to break it. It was Cereza’s turn to practise the art while Jeanne severely tested her.

Jeanne was frustrated to see that Cereza wasn’t improving as fast as the heir was. She was significantly better than any of her other sparring partners but still not quite as strong as Jeanne.

After ten minutes of her lashing out at the darker haired witch she grew bored with the session. Cereza lasted longer and steadier, but it simply wasn’t the contest Jeanne required.

She broke off the engagement prematurely; meeting Cereza’s confused eyes with a determined stare. Sound echoed around them in a depressive calando, restricted to the bubble of space affected by the other witch’s magic.

“War between the clans is about to begin, Cereza. No one is saying it but I can feel it. It won’t be long off,” she said evenly through the distance.

Cereza relaxed her stance, her breathe heavy from effort. “My mother said this might happen.  She never told me why, but then, she didn’t need to.”

It was no secret Rosa’s bond with a sage and the child born of it were contested with the Lumen. One only needed eyes to see the contempt they bore, and Cereza certainly had those. Jeanne was told directly – the Elder wanted the two of them nowhere near each other if she could help it. But Jeanne saw a budding friendship in their youth, and a worthy rival as they were now.

“Cereza, I have to admit something,” she said, folding her arms.

“Go on.”

“I’m trying to be the best.” Her voice was stiff and sharp as it left her lips. Jeanne moved slowly around their little arena, restless as her body continued to feel the battle between them. “I _need_ to be the best, for the future of our clan. It is what is expected of me. I am going to rule the Umbra one day, and I have to be strong enough to do so.”

Cereza’s breathing had finally evened out, and Jeanne marked the slower recovery as a failure of stamina.

“I understand, Jeanne,” she beseeched, jaw tight. “I’m _trying_.”

“Try harder,” she was almost behind Cereza now, and evoking one of the harsher exercises her trainers had her complete the previous evening. “No one else is as strong as we are, and you must keep up with me. I can’t have you lag behind and spoil it all.”

In hindsight, she should have known things between them would begin to degrade from the moment those words left her lips.

She renewed her assault without warning, aiming for Cereza’s head, back, then legs to knock her down. Cereza managed to parry the first, dodge the second, and block the third of Jeanne’s attacks. But it wasn’t enough, Jeanne wanted more from her and kept trying to take it as she punched and kicked in formulated, relentless patterns.

Cereza lasted another three minutes before time snapped back to normal, the air around them rushing quickly as their limbs cut through it. Less than two minutes after that and the other witch had collapsed on the ground, heaving air into her lungs as Jeanne looked on, disappointed and incensed.

-—-—-

Jeanne was prepared early for what would become her pact with Madama Styx, teaching her how to summon, engage, and bargain for sponsorship. She considered her decision extremely carefully before choosing the Decider of Ends, perusing through all known records of demons and their requirements. Her soul was forfeit – that was part of being of the Umbra, but some had other requirements, desires to be met or penalties to acknowledge.

She told Cereza what was happening, and the other girl was supportive and bitter in that way only someone being left behind could be. Jeanne took to the deluge of power with some difficulty, but forced herself to get used to the flow of sharing her body with demonic energy.

The witches trained together once with Jeanne as newly empowered as she was, and the heiress felt strained embarrassment for hurting Cereza as effortlessly as she did when they were through.

A month later and during the next full moon, Cereza partnered with Madama Butterfly of Inferno, the Mistress of Atrocity. It helped that their two demons had no quarrel with each other (things would have been utterly cumbersome, all things considered). As it turned out, Cereza and Madama Butterfly were an excellent match, and what power the other witch inherited from the pact was quickly adapted to and utilized. Jeanne’s only advantage now was the extra time she had to practice under professional guidance. And it stung her to know that despite all of her training and guidance she was, compared to Cereza, naturally lacking.

-—-—-

She began accompanying the older clan members on missions to destroy the angels as part of her vows and pact agreement. Cereza was left behind for ‘adjustment’ reasons and would spend much of her time with Rosa or training alone. The heiress soon discovered that when Cereza said she was ‘training alone’ she was meaning ‘killing the angels behind your back’.

Jeanne might have understood Cereza’s mindset if she was the only witch their age left in the Valley, but as it was Jeanne was the only one whose power graduated enough to be let loosed on the angels.

The sortie was out on a hunt away from Vigrid, as the city was considered to be the last neutral zone between the two clans and the agreement that no angel or demon hunts took place inside its walls was still being upheld. The clans interacted even less than before, but it was civil enough to pass as the last shreds of truce.

The hunting group split up on the nearby countryside, crossing far stretches of distances in short time to find the new graves of soldiers affected by the Lancastrian War. There were always mortals being buried, but as the Witches and Sages quarreled the humans were dragged into their dispute.

Jeanne couldn’t argue with her mother’s tenacity to refuse the Lumen’s wishes, but the upset in their balance affected so much more beyond the overseer clans. It didn’t help that a certain stupid English feud for the ruling of France became renewed and drew humans everywhere into it, compounding on the otherworldly disturbances. Jeanne had a suspicion that a sage might have put the scorned sovereigns up to it.

She mused on how long it would take for either the equilibrium to be broken or the Lumen to give up their hopeless dream of chaos. But the more days and weeks elapsed the less likely it seemed that peace and balance would be restored.

Jeanne passed overly taxed fields lined with hazel and groves of cherries until she reached a small central church and it’s largely expanded graveyard. The paint was peeling off the building’s walls, it’s wooden steps worn to thin and bowed planks, but it was obviously still an important staple for the farmers in the surrounding area. The parish was just too poor to afford it’s upkeep as they busied with mass funerals and prayers for conclusion.

Her thoughts were already sharpened to the task before her, focused on what was needed of her once she passed the cemetery’s gates. Sensing one of her fellow Umbran Witches and Laguna Jeanne hurried to close the distance between her and the graveyard. All but dancing over the overturned soil and around the new stone markers Jeanne saw Cereza, already fazed through Purgatorio and surrounded by a heavenly host and making incredibly quick work of them.

Between the four standard revolvers and dark Wicked Weaves the cemetery was shortly reduced to two living occupants. Jeanne would have been impressed if she wasn’t so livid with the secrecy.

“So, this is where you have been sneaking off to?” She leaned against the wall of the yard with her arms folded, and waited for Cereza’s answer.

“I couldn’t well stay at home and do nothing,” the other witch shrugged in reply. “You do know I’m _forbidden_ to do anything outside of Crescent Valley, even though I have a pact I need to uphold. Not exactly fair, I say, when the angels’ summons and my boundaries don’t overlap.”

Jeanne pushed off the wall, unable to stay in place in her mood. “You didn’t have to lie to me.”

“What would it have mattered, Jeanne?”

“We could have done this together!”

“Really, ‘together’. Jeanne, you are constantly trying to do everything alone, even when we have the same goals. ‘ _Together_ ’ doesn’t exist with you.”

“We do not have the same goals.” She practically hissed as golden light split the air around them, bringing forth a new wave of Affinities. “I have so much more to work for. I _have_ to be the _best_.”

“We’ll see who the best is when you’ve deserted everyone you’ve known and you’re standing all alone.” Cereza’s words hung like a threat between them as they shifted into a choreographed position to deflect the incoming attack.

They moved competitively around the graveyard, trying to kill angels before the other witch could. Jeanne tried to keep score in her head for both of them, gritting her teeth in frustration when she realised the dark haired witch was doing better than her for most of the battle. And that was considering the fact that she took care of a division of cretins before this.

When it was over Cereza left wordlessly with a huff, and Jeanne stayed to wait for any more appearances by the Riders of the Light. None showed a third time and that perturbed her more than it should have.

On the way out she shot off the gate with a cross welded onto it. Despite the satisfying clash it made as it fell, it didn’t help her mood.

-—-—-

If something should happen to Jeanne in the looming war the heiress wanted someone worthy to become the next overseer of the Left Eye, someone who wouldn’t be questioned in their power. There was only one witch Jeanne thought might beat her, and she didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that she might have helped make Cereza too powerful for her to fight, that she might _lose_ to her. But there was some expectation of a challenge in which Jeanne would have to work for the honour of proving herself to the clan.

She did not expect Cereza to so thoroughly beat her into the ground.

The display was brutal, though Jeanne thought they might have been on equal footing for the majority of it. Their limbs and weapons cut through the air from their bodies crossing over all surfaces of the proving room, the wind generated around them held between pulsating suspensions and wild billows as time dilated. But the heiress slipped up too often, and while Cereza tired and wore out the other witch didn’t have anything to lose with this fight. If Cereza lost, she was the next to inherit the Left Eye of the World until the next generation, and if she won…

Jeanne couldn’t lose. It wasn’t in her to. She fought and clenched her teeth against every hit that landed on her and pressed to reciprocate what the dark-haired witch had dealt. But within minutes her victory was snatched from her, something in Cereza being stronger, faster, _better_ than Jeanne. Her chosen combatant stood above her, chest rapidly moving, revolver to Jeanne’s head with an inscrutable expression on her face.

Jeanne didn’t look away, and while she could’ve played dirty and pulled the hidden knife from her sleeve the Elder had called the battle’s end and Jeanne knew it was done. Anything else would be petty and unbearably shallow, and in the face of her defeat she still had her pride, perhaps less than it was but still intact and _hers_.

Her gaze held steady on Cereza’s even as every witch of the clan watched Jeanne for an answer to their unspoken question: How? How could the Forbidden Child beat the groomed heiress for the Umbran Throne?

From where Jeanne was sitting, Cereza was asking the same of her. But then her mother was speaking – announcing the winner, and Cereza tentatively offered her hand. Jeanne took it, feeling all of the bitterness and resentment freeze in her pulse and break in her chest. It was almost freeing, like a weight was shifted from her shoulders to Cereza’s.

She stood, turning away while her mother dispassionately declared Cereza the Overseer of the Left Eye, and Jeanne removed herself from the stares of her Umbran sisters.

As she walked she favoured her injuries, moving slowly but steadily, mentally numbing herself to the pain. She followed the hall to the courtyard which would, at any other time, be full of witches studying books or recuperating from training.  But today everyone was behind her and being informed of their new expectation of Cereza. There was to be a ceremony, a ritual, Cereza’s vows to the duty, and then bestowment of the Left Eye unto its new Overseer. It would likely take longer to finish as the new intender had little knowledge of the steps needed to complete the ordeal ahead of time.

The courtyard branched into the cardinal directions to other walkways and important buildings, but laying ordinal to these were additional paths to several gardens, most for herbalism or compounding. Two were designed for enjoyment and relaxation, the latter of which Jeanne sought now.

Tonight the birds and insects could be heard rustling or chirping, the moon providing illumination for the night life. She took the furthest path away, determined to carry herself as far as possible in stubborn determination. She wanted security from being discovered any time soon.

Here amongst the yews and rowans, ivy and roses, the air was hushed and quiet, almost a wholly different atmosphere. Her steps were measured and careful, wary of catching her heels in a crack. Everything around her was secluded and private, the tall larkspurs and bellflowers pressed close like gatekeepers, almost brushing her legs with each gentle sway in the breeze.

The path wove away from its origin to connect to others, interspersed with stone or wooden benches just out of sight from each other, allowing a stronger sense of isolation. Jeanne walked as far along from where anyone could spot her position from another path or exit. She sat on cold stone, stretching her legs out and reclining her head back. Behind the bench stood a tall bundle of lilacs, blooms almost iridescent at night as their light scent drifted around her.

After her body had settled and the moon began to rejuvenate her magic, Jeanne took a single deep breath and held the remainder of her pain and frustration in it, and then let everything all out, relinquishing it to the night.

The sense of freedom from responsibility was foreign to her, something she never experienced in all her life until this night. It was as though the shackles of duty and destiny had been bound to her so tight that when they were broken earlier she was left in freefall. She remained in the little grove for rest of the evening, examining that feeling and learning how to accept it.

-—-—-

The Clan War had been officially declared when the Lumen called on the Umbra Elder for one final demand on her course of inactions. Jeanne wasn’t personally there, but a witch that was had said the only reason it happened this particular instance was because some of the sages had collectively called her mother the Grand Whore of Eveningtide. Apparently the slower ones bid the others time due to the Elder feeding them piece by piece to her summoned demons, the survivors having escaped her mother’s wrath to rally their clan.

‘ _So that will be the brutality expected of us…_ ’ she mused.

Jeanne’s first action was to tell Cereza, and build a plan around the expectation of the Overseer’s position during the war.

She found the dark-clad witch halfway to the dungeons, a frown in her expression that told Jeanne enough to know the news of the confrontation had spread already.

“Cereza.”

“Jeanne…” the other woman replied. “I hear we’re finally at war.”

“You heard correctly.” Jeanne stopped to the side of the path, forcing Cereza to do the same. “There’s going to be a stratagem announced tonight. _Everyone_ will be expected there.”

Cereza’s eyes widened, looking towards her destination again. “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” she confirmed. “She’ll be released as an asset to fight. You’ll also be expected in battle, but closer to home,” ‘ _for the safety of the Left Eye,_ ’ she silently added.

“… I see,” the other witch’s expression shifted as the implications of that dawned on Cereza.

She had no love for Cereza’s mother, and not much for her own since being raised by the Umbra’s elite. But she knew Cereza needed her attachments, given how little she had growing up an outcast. They may not be children anymore, but Jeanne didn’t lose her compassion when she inherited the obligations to the clan.

“It’s going to be bloody, and rotten. But we can’t afford to fight amongst ourselves. Should things begin to degrade, priority will be given to us for our position.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“Don’t. It’s simply the logical course of action.” She turned and moved back the way she came.

“Besides,” Jeanne called over her shoulder. “Who better to protect you and the Left Eye, than the one originally trained to do so?”

-—-—-

As the overseer clans made battlefields of Europe the mortals began to take part, unable to escape the destruction witch and sage magic cast on their weakened populace. It was gruesome for both sides but the Lumen were nearly destroyed in the first few forays, quickly ejected from Vigrid and decimated in the Sunrise Valley. Their greatest advantage was the mortals they rallied under them, supplementing their power with sheer numbers to stall the Umbran victory.

England fell to the influence of the Lumen Sages, and as a counter measure the Umbran Elder commanded Jeanne to place herself among the French. The heiress fabricated her background and faith and eventually was held in high enough regard to influence the military to the Umbra’s will. It helped that her name carried the meaning of someone righteous, and she had no qualms in posing as a prophet of the angels. In fact, she relished the idea that her borrowing Holy Scripture at least stung the Lumens’ egotism, possibly hurting the angel’s power.

Jeanne coordinated attacks between the Umbra and the French to pincer land and advantage from the Lumen. Cereza was tucked safely away to fight any Laguna that might try to take Vigrid, watched over by the Elder and protected by Rosa when Jeanne was away with the humans.

It was deceptively easy to win, to end the intents of their wayward enemy before they could do further damage.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-

There’s hardly any confliction in her memory for the Umbra and Lumen battles – most everything takes place the same way each time she draws it from reminiscence. The only differences seem to stem from Cereza in flashes of gold or red anytime Jeanne’s attention was pulled to her Umbran Watch, in and out of combat. Her behaviour will alter between instances as well, moments where she’s braver than another version of herself.

But the penultimate result is the same: the Umbra are victorious over the Lumen and are unknowingly waiting for the final strike against them by a banished enemy from the shadows.


	4. Take Two

**Part 2 - Take Two**

 

She also remembers first driving through the layers of cloth into something hard and metallic. The spell broke against it, unraveling around and away from them into nothing. Cereza looked at her first in shock, then realization as she pulled her watch from her clothes, examining it. With the spell dissipated Jeanne lowered the blade, watching Cereza mutter quiet words of thanks before getting up.

She recalls them sharing a moment of consolidation before heading back into the fray.

They escaped through Purgatorio to avoid the humans as they burst into the room, shooting or stomping any angels that accompanied them. A new light burned in Cereza’s eyes, one that wasn’t present at the beginning of the attack, one that was unclouded by the fear that used to be there. Seeing it in her friend brought out a reflected energy in herself, a response to the pandemonium around them. Everything was falling apart: their home, their family, their culture, their entire way of life, all becoming ruins around them as they fled to the tunnels to Vigrid. The more powerful Laguna broke pieces of stonework to try to get to them, ripping apart the sanctuary behind them and the path at their heels in a cacophony of grating noise. Roars and song followed behind them as the tunnels shook, but there were no more angels immediately around them. They didn’t stop though; they kept running together until they reached the village.

They paused briefly once they made it out, surveying the damage to Vigrid. Plenty of the buildings held, being far enough away from the Crescent Valley to be spared the earth-shaking tremors. They could hear shouts and screams echo in the distance, some human and some holy. The streets of the town were filled with fire, barrels of torches, large and small pyres, and some less fortunate buildings too close to either. Smoke flooded everything and sparks blew in the wind.

“We need to get to high ground. We can’t see anything like this!”

“Agreed. The clock tower is our best chance,” Jeanne called back. It would be where any survivors would go to await others.

Fortitudo hovered over the bridge through to the rest of the town, trying to halt their progress. They dispatched it easily, Madama Styx and Madama Butterfly together gave the Auditio no chance for attack as they ripped it’s dragons off. The monster retreated too quickly for them to finish, turning its tail and flying away.

“We need to hurry, Cereza.”

The two of them reached the tower with several angels at its base. They broke through the first cluster and kicked open its doors, throwing themselves inside and spinning to cover the door as they were followed. Cereza mimed attacks as Madama Butterfly made contact, Jeanne shooting any that tried to sneak around their defenses. As soon as there was a lull in the rush they turned and flew to the stairs, climbing as fast as they could.

The broken and beaten Fortitudo made its appearance again through a window, flying extremely fast at the tower. Jeanne cried a warning to Cereza before it made impact with the base, now a floor below them. The structure shook, bricks falling loose above them as the Auditio pulled itself out of the newly created hole. Jeanne stomped one foot down hard into the weak landing, dust coming up as a circle was laid down, and below Jeanne could see Madama Styx delivering the same treatment to Fortitudo. Cereza reached the next landing above and repeated the action to the Auditio.

After it made several attempts to avoid their battering it managed to turn itself away and out of the hole before ramming it again. The tower tilted but held precariously, more of the stonework coming free and nearly hitting them on the way down to Earth.

“We need to end this Cereza!” Jeanne called as she turned to follow her friend.

Cereza had already started to climb higher to a still secured platform, readying a summon to finish off the Auditio.

“A GRAA ORS!”

Her hair spun around and plunged into a circle beside her on the wall, and through a window Jeanne could spot Malphas swooping around and down at Fortitudo, devouring its existence.

Through the hole the Auditio left came a flood of Affinities and Applauds, flying to their level as Jeanne caught up with Cereza. They killed the angels effectively in the bottleneck of the stairway. Halfway ascended the tower and they had yet to meet any further problems, and Jeanne considered their situation. Despite knowing they might very well be the only ones left, knowing everything they ever knew was being cracked and shattered around them, somehow, someway, Jeanne knew they were going to make it out of this. They were going to be _okay_.

They finished the climb, accessing the vestiges of the village and the Urban home. It seemed like the majority of the angels’ remaining forces had stormed the clock tower or were still sweeping through the rest of the Crescent Valley. It wasn’t encouraging for survivors; most non-winged beings they could see were the wretched humans with their pitchforks and torches.

“We can escape down the valley below. It might be our best chance,” Cereza said, overlooking the side of the roof.

“I agree,” Jeanne paused, watching for additional angels. “We might be able to take quite a few of them on the trip down.”

Cereza met her gaze, eyes shining in the moonlight as the clouds parted. With the sky clearing their power flooded within them, soothing the weariness a night of fighting and running had brought on the pair. With it they could see the Laguna in the distance, a large division of them, appearing almost from the moon itself.

Something cracked from the base of the tower, and the whole structure moved in different directions. Parts of the walls fell away and into the streets, on to neighbouring buildings, but the upper section they were on slid back and towards the fissure of the valley. They moved along it, their walk aided by the magic and moonlight, until they stood on the clock face, moving back-to-back as they plummeted from the remains of the tower into the valley, readying for another long fight.

-—-—-

She always burns as Jeanne d’Arc, martyr of France, but she is able to escape the pyre faster the second time around. There are flashes of other lives that Jeanne has led – moments of living in solitude and not, time when she thinks she sees grey eyes and sleek ribbons of hair, and others when Jeanne just sees red clouding her remembrances.

What supplements the space between them escaping Vigrid and destroying Jubileus is shattered into fragments of things that may or may not have been memories. When the shards catch and drag Jeanne can see flittering events in which she is, in fact, not alone.

They run away from the war, moving across the continent as cousins, sisters-in-law, or neighbours, all of their stories blaming the difficulties of the conflict between two countries. Every good lie has a grain of truth in it, and theirs never went questioned. During the day they travelled as mortals, at night as witches, unseen and undiscovered through Purgatorio.

Wherever they settled they did so for a short time, weary but wary of what they left behind. If humans became too curious of their pasts or their lack of aging the pair would uproot and relocate, until the next town where they started again.

Sometimes they would live together, sometimes they were separated by a few miles of fields and greenery, but always were Jeanne and Cereza in some contact with each other. They couldn’t feasibly be at arm’s length at all times like Jeanne would have preferred, but they did what they could to keep their acts up and recover.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-

Certain things hurt less in this set of memories, even if they were a lot less firm in her mind. Her time in the Northern countries was warmer and almost pleasant with Cereza in them. The solitude didn’t cling as tight, and Vigrid could be forgotten on some nights together.

But their separations had given her anxieties – not unlike when she had to run from the coffin she’d placed her sister in, fears that the Laguna might have found their trail and were waiting for Jeanne to be far enough away before striking. She knew it was paranoia, but she let it guide her in the decades leading to their inevitable return to Vigrid.

She can’t remember how it is they separate or come together again leading to Balder’s defeat, and Jeanne tried to let the space remain blank, knowing that it doesn’t happen like this in the first timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (end of Part 2)


	5. Curtains Closed

**Finale - Curtains Closed**

 

Jeanne would always, and forever, curse the machinations of that treacherous Lumen Sage. He might have done some good in bringing Cereza back to Jeanne in some form, but he’d done so much damage along his path to the apocalypse. And in the end, it was up to them to save the world and make their happy ending.

Father Balder had undone the spell Jeanne sealed Cereza with in such an ingenious (she _could_ admit his meddling was clever) and contrived way. Her friend had knocked Jeanne back into her senses and embraced what she couldn’t five hundred years ago as the power of the Left Eye became more than a duty – it became part of _her_. Jeanne was proud, but infuriated by the lengths and costs the sage had taken to rip apart the universe. Later she learned that he wasn’t in his right mind (though she would argue none of the sages ever were), and that the primordial being of Chaos had been taken into his body and returned back to the past.

Thanks to that, Jeanne now had an extra set of memories that both happened and didn’t. But she knew it could not be helped. No doubt Cereza experienced the same affliction she did, but Jeanne hoped that her five centuries of sleep allowed for the new additional memories to be integrated easier in her friend’s mind.

It wasn’t painful to carry them and physically she was fine, for the most part mentally as well. Had she not been a witch full of magic with a demon’s pact signed, Jeanne likely wouldn’t be able to function with the knowledge in her, or even been aware of it. But if she was worn-out they sometimes interrupted her sleep to play out of synchronous order and awaken her to delirium, like a nightmare that wasn’t always full of bad imagery.

It's not the first or the last time she has had to examine the fragile moments of her life, but she treats it like the old video cassette recordings (funny invention those were, humans might as well have skipped them). She plays through one timeline, rewinds, and watches it again, but altered, like the original was masking more to be discovered and needed to be seen once through to uncover what lay underneath.

Where the sage had split time was clear to her: the moment her knife couldn’t push into Cereza’s chest. But she knew the point of divergence had to have started with Cereza when they were girls, when Balder had pulled her from the Umbra’s safety and into the present-day Vigrid to meet her older self. But thinking about that gave Jeanne flashes of more things that might have been different, changes in her childhood that she wasn’t fully able to grasp in their echoing form.

She reasons that this is due to the delicate nature of the mind, and some differences shudder through, like when she pushed Cereza away for power and pride and the Umbran Throne, or accepted her friend’s greatness and stayed by her side as prophesy’s were tossed at the Forbidden Child for the sages’ ludicrous demands. She remembers these things differently, but is pleased by the fact that Jeanne was able to come around and defend her friend in two separate instances. Jeanne knows she’s not generally a nice person by nature (not when you’re raised to think being nice is a waste of time), but it’s telling that she’s able to remain so loyal for so long and so consistently.

Her recollection gets hazier the more divergence occurs pre-Witch Hunts, and there’s nothing leading up to her brainwashing, and not much clarity during that horrible experience either. She knows she was a right bitch to her friend, and just thinking about it makes her want to shoot angels and send flowers to Cereza.

The closer she gets to the other witch the less confusion clouds her past. It might be their magic, or maybe the Lumen Sage’s, aligning things to where they should be in her head. It could also be the distractions the other witch provided – the inane ideas on how they should be hunting those of heaven as well as the hunts themselves.

She also considered that it could be Cereza’s presence alone; calming her relatively turbulent memories into something steady as they made new ones together. Jeanne wasn’t going to complain as she didn’t care if she was, in fact, dependent on Cereza. It was mutual – they depended on _each other_. That’s just what their friendship and survival required these days.

These revelations and solo trips down Memory Lane came to her in the times between midnight and dawn, when she’d awaken to something she’d seen before and felt the limbo amid slumber and consciousness heavy against her eyes. Cereza would be nearby but asleep, seemingly undisturbed by her troubles of the past.

Jeanne found it easier to get up and move then to try turning over in bed, so she slipped away into their shared kitchen space and fetched herself a glass. After a slight debate between the opened bottle of wine in the refrigerator and water she settled on the former to wash the dryness from her mouth.

She carried the beverage with her to the living room, pulling back the curtains to let the moonlight filter in. It tingled pleasantly as it flowed over her exposed wrist into her arm, sinking and mingling with her and Madame Styxs’ energies. It calmed her, such a familiar thing that had sustained her for so long that will be part of her life until the end of it. Come what may.

As soon as she had gotten her fill of nocturnal power Jeanne retreated to the bedroom hall, sipping her wine and moving to the opened door there. It swung inwards silently as she pressed her shoulder to the frame, revealing Cereza deep in sleep across the bed.

‘ _She looks so peaceful_ ,’ Jeanne thought, her finger tracing the glass stem absentmindedly. The other witch was curled in on her side (she once confessed she was unable to sleep on her back anymore, not after centuries of it in hibernation), her expression relaxed and breathing slow and even. Cereza was the very image of safe and comfortable, so unlike how she looked when Jeanne had to seal her away.

Once, not even long ago, thinking of Cereza would spring a well of harsh emotion and memories of the destruction of their clan for such a worthless goal. Her image would have given Jeanne a hollow pain in her chest and a cold fire in her eyes. Now, after everything they had been through together, and knowing they would forever and always be standing side-by-side, she could feel a little bubble of something akin to security and home.

“All for _you_ , Cereza, my sleeping beauty. Sweet dreams.” Jeanne lift the remainder of the wine in a toast before finishing it off, then padded back to the kitchen.

Jeanne knows, in the grand scheme of their lives, that Cereza in the backdrop to everything they do, while Jeanne was the spangles, the punctuation to the message that the pair of them as the last of the Umbran Clan delivered. Which was perfectly fine with her – Cereza liked the limelight, to put on a show; and Jeanne preferred to cut the curtains and turn out the lights as soon as she was through.

When she returned to bed her head felt lighter, not unlike the buzz of power or alcohol or relief. Jeanne slowly adjusted her position, tangled herself under the sheets, and dozed into a quiet rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give props to my husband for being my final critic when I kept making revisions any time I looked at the folder. 
> 
> And I have to, absolutely, thank you for reading. I hope it did what I intended and you enjoyed what was an excuse to get too-deep in with lovely (b*tchy) witches.


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